Oddly Content
by Max Alleyne
Summary: Blood is still pounding in my ears, but I did manage to catch her contented sigh. That she can be content in a time like this is amazing, and so very Fi.


**Author's Note: **So, I couldn't help but wonder what happened in the time between Mike pulling Fi out of the water, and the time that we see them hours later. So I'm filling in the blanks.

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Fear is a funny thing. At the right time, it can be one of your best assets. When you work in high risk situations, fear—and the adrenaline it sends shooting through your bloodstream—can save your life. But, at the wrong time, it can get you killed. Anyone who says "the only thing to fear is fear itself" is lying to you. The trick of it is finding the right balance. You have to be just scared enough to be cautious, but not enough to let it cripple you.

I'm staring into the water, looking for Fi, my fear threatening to overwhelm me. My heart is racing, and logically speaking, I know it's because of the adrenaline that is rushing through my veins. But there is a part of me that wonders if it's my fail safe. If can't save Fi, will my heart keep racing until it just can't go anymore? It only gets worse when I see her floating face-down in the water, not moving.

As a spy, I was taught to stay calm in any situation. If you lose your cool, it can completely blow the operation. But right now, it feels like everything I ever learned has been thrown out the window. I'm panicking. I'm running out into the open without doing a perimeter check first. I'm calling her name and drawing attention to my position, practically begging an unseen sniper to shoot me. And I don't give a damn. All that matters is Fi.

Fifty feet has never seemed like such a long distance before. Despite the fact that I'm tearing through the water, I can't seem to get there fast enough. When I finally do reach her, I'm too frantic to be gentle. I just need to know that she's alive, that she's breathing, that she's still Fi. I had never thought of Fi as fragile or tiny, mostly because I know what she can do with a block of C4, but now, she feels so small. She's too still in my arms, and for once, I wish she would make a joke in poor taste about C4. Instead, she is still.

But then I hear the faintest whimper. It grows into a low moan, and she starts to move just slightly. It's weird to hear Fi moaning in pain. She's so strong. I'm not used to Fi in pain. Then it's just a turn of her head, but the slight movement is enough to make me want to cry tears of relief. She's moving. She's feeling. She's _alive. _At the same time, I feel pangs of guilt, knowing full well that if I hadn't been blinded by Strickler's offer, Fi wouldn't be in this situation.

When you're working as an operative, you are often going to be asked to do things that any normal person would feel guilty about. This is why it's best to forget the emotion as soon as possible, because if you don't, it is going to get you killed. But there are times when even the most skilled operative lets the guilt slip in, and the only thing you can do is learn to live with it.

I reach the shore and set her down as gently as I can on the sand. She just stares at me with those green eyes. I quickly look her over, searching for the wound that is causing her pain. It's a bullet wound to the upper arm. I say a prayer of thanks as I realize that it's only a flesh wound. Not that there isn't plenty of blood, but it's not enough for me to worry about her bleeding out.

I know that I should bind the wound and stop the bleeding, but all I can focus on is the fact that Fi is _alive. _ Since I'd been burned, I had never considered life without Fi until she told me she was leaving Miami. When she was kidnapped earlier, all the terrible possibilities of life without Fi had flooded my mind, and now I could throw them all away. She was alive and here. I touched her cheek, trying to reassure her while memorizing the planes of her face.

"Michael." She says my name, and there's an assurance in her voice that causes a tightness in my chest. Over the time we'd worked together, we had started to trust each other. I always knew that Fi would watch my back, and she knew I would do the same. She knew that I would come for her.

"Hey Fi." Even soaking wet and in pain, she's beautiful. For a minute, I can do nothing but study her face before I pull myself together. "I need to bandage your arm. It's going to hurt," I tell her, smoothing her hair out her face. She bites her lip and nods, anticipating the pain. Without giving her much time to think about it, I tear a strip off my shirt and quickly bind her arm. Pangs of guilt come back even stronger as I hear her gasp of pain. But then it's over. At least until we get home. "It's over, Fi. It's over now."

She nods her head weakly as I gently pick her up. She fits into my arms perfectly, her head resting against my chest. Blood is still pounding in my ears, but I did manage to catch her contented sigh. A _contented sigh_, of all things. That she can be content in a time like this is amazing, and so very Fi. After all, she does make inappropriate jokes about orgasms and C4.

I carry her to the car, where Sam is leaning against the hood, trying to pretend that he didn't just watch our entire exchange. "It's good to have you back, Fi," he said, before helping me get her into the back seat of the Charger—something that would be much easier if it had four doors. I don't even try to climb into the front seat. Instead, I sit in the back seat, my shoulder serving as a pillow for Fi. Five minutes into the drive, she's asleep.

"As rescue ops go, that wasn't so bad. Easy-peasy," Sam said from the front seat, trying to lighten the mood. If I weren't so damned tired, I would have smiled. Instead, my attempt looked more like I was in pain than anything else.

"We almost lost her, Sam," I said quietly, absentmindedly running my fingers through her hair. It's good just to be able to touch her.

"Nah. You know Fi. She blow 'em half to hell and show up at your place eating your yogurt the next day." I know that Sam is trying to down play the situation. Sometimes this trick works, especially when you're working with a person unskilled in espionage. However, as a spy, it is usually best to accept the situation as it is, and go from there.

"Well, what I said still stands. If anything ever happens to me—"

"We'll blow up that bridge when get there, Mikey."

The rest of the drive is silent, which is good, because my mom nearly had a heart attack when she saw me carry Fi through the front door. She was none too happy about having her living room turned into a hospital, but she's willing to make an exception for Fi. I've never been entirely sure why Ma took such a liking to Fi, but I've never been more grateful for it than I was then. Fi started to stir as I set her on the sofa. We're both soaking wet, but as I try to go get us some dry clothes she refused to let go of my hand.

"Where you going?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

"I'll be right back. I have to get us some dry clothes. They're in a box around her somewhere."

"I'm coming. I'm not changing in front of Sam." She tried to stand as she spoke, but the blood loss had made her woozy. Before she had a chance to fall and hurt herself further, I picked her up and headed to find some clothes. I quickly pulled on some dry clothes, but best we can find for her is some flimsy nightgown that doesn't suit her at all, but she didn't have the energy to complain. Luckily for me, she didn't have the energy to complain when I cut her shirt off, either.

I'd seen Fi naked before, obviously, but it was different this time. This was the only time she'd ever seemed fragile to me. She just lie very still, letting me do what she needed me to do. Trusting me to do whatever she needed. I pulled the gown over her head and gently guided her wounded arm where it was supposed to go. I could tell she was struggling to keep her eyes open through the whole thing.

"I've got to clean this up. It's going to sting a bit," I warn her. She's too tired to cry out as I wipe away the blood and clean the wound. I smeared on a bit of antibiotic ointment and bandaged it as quickly as I could without hurting her. Still, she was so out of it, I don't know if she felt a thing.

I carried her back down to the living room and set her on sofa near where her brother is sleeping. In a few more minutes, she'll be joining him in dreamland, but she's being her stubborn self and clinging to the waking world.

"Fi, go to sleep," I told her.

I feel her hand wrap weakly around mine. "You'll stay?"

I know what it means that she has asked me that question. Fi is a strong, independent woman. To ask me that…it meant more to me than she could ever know. She wanted me there, and she was willing to be vulnerable enough to ask. I answer with a gentle, lingering kiss on the forehead.

Despite everything we've been through, or perhaps because of it, I've never told her that I love her. We both know that we do, but for some reason, we just can bring ourselves to say the words. Maybe we can blame it on a lifetime of dealing in secrets and disposable cover identities. But for whatever the reason, I can't seem to say it. My mouth gets dry as a desert, and I feel as nervous as an awkward kid asking out his first prom date. It's funny how only Fi can do that to me.

But now it doesn't matter that it's awkward. What matters is that I almost lost the only woman who will ever understand me. I almost lost the only woman--other than my mother--that I ever truly loved, and knowing that makes me feel sick. The fact that Fi could have died in my arms today--or worse, alone at the hands of some bloodythirsty hooligan thousands of miles away--makes me realize that no matter how bad we are at "this," somethings are too important not to be said.

"I love you," I whisper. The words roll easily off my tongue and I wonder why in the world it was ever a problem. Fi, half asleep, shifts slightly and grips my hand tighter.

"Love you…too." She has the slightest sleepy smile on her face, and it makes my heart flutter. Despite the hell of a day, and the fact that she probably won't remember her recent confession of love, I smile and settle in for a long afternoon for sitting by Fi. While I usually hate spinning my wheels, I find myself oddly content to just sit there with her, my hand entwined hers. But then, I love her, so maybe that's no so odd after all.

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**Author's Note: **So, there it is. This is my first Burn Notice fic, so any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. Basically, that's the kid in me begging for reviews and trying to sound all mature about it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. =)


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